Cravenwoods
by Angelsswirl
Summary: Quinn has some serious Daddy issues. One-shot.


Cravenwoods  
As I walk to my house I hear a crow calling my name. On instinct my fangs drop through my gums eliciting a slight groan from my dry throat.

The sky is grey and cloudy but that's just a regular day in little Ole Cravenwoods.

The crows sounds again just a little closer now.

As I turn my head to the side a flash of blonde hair waves from a tree above.

"What the heck, Brittany? You scared the living shit out of me!" I screech at the top of my undead lungs.

''Oops. My bad. But you wouldn't listen. Didn't you hear me call your name?" I stay silent because I did. Something is coming and I'm just trying to get home.  
.

.  
I open the door to the vast loft that my master owns. I growl at the smell that instantly hits my nose. It's heady, and smells like death. My master comes down the large stairwell as I walk towards him. Bowing at is feet he acknowledges me.

"Hello, Quinn." He towers over me. His short silver hair glistening from the shower he just obviously took.

"Greetings, sir. How may I be of service today?" I reply with my head down. It's to show respect. I have absolutely no respect for this man. This evil, evil entity.

"Nothing much planned for today. I have a meeting with Mr. Jones tonight at four. I'm not sure of the time I will return. Therefore, all you need to accomplish would be to fix yourself dinner and lock up." He explains looking down his nose at me.

"Yes, Father." I quickly bow and duck out of sight. I hate being near that cringe-worthy man, if you can even call him that.  
God, I hate my life. I'm pretty much a slave in my own home.

As I slide about the kitchen I can't help but to wonder what Daddy dearest has in store for Mr. Jones. Whatever it is, Mercedes surely isn't getting her dad back in one live piece.

Whenever my Dad mentions he had a meeting with someone it was never good. Father doesn't know the actual meaning of the word.

And he wonders why the haunted are following us. It could be because he murders innocent with his bare paws. His sharp teeth. And, his intellectual mind.

As much as I hate to admit it my Father is a rather intelligent 'man'. He can outwit the best of 'em, without even blinking.

As I start to grill my incredibly rare steak. I hear what sounds like rattling amongst the pots and pans. I know it's not Father because I heard the echo of the big black oak door slam as soon as he vacated.

Right as the distraction stops I stop caring. Why must if I can't see it. They do say seeing is believing, and who am I not to trust them. Whoever 'them' are.

I sat my meat down on Dads fine China and set my plate on the seemingly never ending dining hall table. I like to believe it fits at least the city.

The mansion-like building is nice. It's not quite like pictures of mansions I've seen like in New York, but compared to the completely run down neighborhood that is Cravenwoods, it's a castle.

I, not sure as to why it is as large as it is considering it as only me and Father, I think he likes it that way. Makes him feel Royal.

It's not working. I don't feel like a Princess. I feel like anything but, and I'm definitely not treated like one.

I stared down the never-ending black oak table at the empty chair that would normally be occupied by Father.

He sits with his fork and knife high in the air. Undermining me from his perch, staring down the bottomless pit that is my soul. He tries to read me. Figure out what I haven't told him. After all what he doesn't know, won't hurt him. Not that anything could. He's immortal.

They can't be killed. Lies. Try telling that to Mother. She was immortal too, yet killed at the hands of her own husband.

He thinks I don't know.

Ha. That ignorant, ignorant man.

I finish chewing on my steak put my dishes in the sink and head to my room.

I lay down as my eyes flutter shut.

Three hours later I'm woken by the wind. My windows closed which concerns me.

I flip over to get a better angle at sleep. It works for about 20 minutes until I hear a whisper.

"Quinn." My eyes snap open. If I heard right, my dead Mother just whispered my name.

"Quinn. He's coming." Is whispered right next to my ear.

"Mom?" No answer. I shouldn't have expected one. I sit up in my canopy bed and am met with Mr. Jones' bloody corpse.

I scream at the top of my lungs, but am cut off by an invisible hand covering my mouth.

"Quinn. Run." Is whispered. This time I'm the one who whispers it subconsciously though.

"Quinn. I'm back." I hear my father wispy voice. I can't see him though.

I try to get out of bed but am pushed back by an unseen force.

"No. Quinn. Don't run away from your own papa." He commands.

"You never were my father!" I screech into the night.

This seems to set him off and he appears hovering over me with blood stained teeth. He smells of death. My death.

"What did you say to me, little girl!" His voice his so loud I can't even call it an actual voice anymore.

He takes his sharp claws to my neck. As soon as he makes contact my eyes snap open.

He's gone. It's daylight and I'm in my bed. It was just a dream.

I look to my left when I feel my bed shift. My eyes widen comically when I see what was next to me.

He raises his hand over my face.

"Goodnight, Princess."


End file.
